


Transitive Property

by schemingreader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schemingreader/pseuds/schemingreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm glad we're friends now, Severus," Harry said. He avoided adding, "And that you survived the war," but Snape definitely heard it. "But you don't need to come take care of me when I'm ill."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transitive Property

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accioslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioslash/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Транзитивность](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3135137) by [morcabre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morcabre/pseuds/morcabre)



"I have arrived, Potter," a deep voice called from the fireplace. 

"Hello?" Harry didn't have the magic to amplify his voice, or the breath to speak very loudly. He coughed painfully. 

"I am here to assist with your recovery," Severus Snape announced, glowering down at him. The man could swoop. 

"You move," Harry said, coughing a little, "like a cat." He coughed some more. 

"I've come to make you potions," Snape elaborated. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders to support him and brought a foaming, steaming mug full of something to Harry's lips.

"What is that? It smells of peppermint." 

"Herbal tea," Snape said. 

"Why is it bubbling?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow. 

"Did you put some kind of bubbling charm on peppermint tea to make it look more impressive?" 

Snape lifted his lip haughtily. "Yes." 

"Looks like you put dry ice in," Harry said. He took the mug carefully, and took a sip. He was leaning against Snape a little, but that couldn't be helped. "Why peppermint?" 

Snape shrugged. "Smells nice." 

"I'm glad we're friends now, Severus," Harry said. He avoided adding, "And that you survived the war," but Snape definitely heard it. "But you don't need to come take care of me when I'm ill." 

"Mrs. Granger-Weasley informed me that you had pleurisy," Snape said. "Who contracts such an illness at your age, in a country with socialized medicine and antibiotics?" 

Harry laughed, and then coughed for a bit. "Isn't there magic for this?" he croaked.

"Yes, of course," Snape said, "if you allow yourself to become this run-down and weakened, we can use magic." 

He made additional pillows appear under Harry's head, and conjured an additional blanket as well. "Naturally you're unwell," Snape fumed. 

"Sorry," Harry said. 

"Stop talking," Snape said, "You need fluids and rest and," he waved his wand, "a potion to kill the infection." 

"Wait," Harry said, coughing more.

"Potter," Snape said. "No talking." 

Why was he even there? Harry had probably scared him into thinking he was going to die, again. 

That was the reason he'd come out of hiding in the first place. "What do you think, Potter," he'd sneered, "that you were the only wizard who could fake his own death? Please." That is, once he'd prevented Harry from detonating a sort of magical grenade in a firefight with a bunch of recidivist Death Eaters. 

Now he was back. Apparently if Harry caught a bad enough cold, it tripped the same alarm as when he was about to be exploded by a nasty spell. So Snape was taking care of him. 

Not that he was nice about it. It was like being cared for in the Hogwarts Infirmary if Madame Pomfrey had grown an enormous nose and a very sharp tongue. 

In short, very comforting, though he knew, as he drifted off to sleep, that he ought to feel guilty about it. 

When he woke again, Snape was gliding toward him with another mug. This one wasn't even steaming. 

"What is it?" Harry said. His throat already felt a bit better. 

"It's an antibiotic," Snape said. "This isn't even a viral infection. What are you doing to yourself, Potter?"

"I didn't do—"

"Be quiet and drink," Snape said. He sat on the edge of the bed and glared. "Drink, I said."

Harry sipped carefully. The liquid had faint purple sparkles and smelled of lemon, but it tasted like plain water. 

"What do you think," Snape said menacingly. "That you have to continue to willingly sacrifice your life at intervals, now that you've managed to survive repeated attempts on it by a madman?"

Harry swallowed indignantly. "I didn't get sick on purpose," he said. 

"Drink," Snape said. "I realize that as the conduit of Albus Dumbledore's instructions to top yourself for the greater good, my current advice may be," he paused dramatically, " _suspect_. But I must admonish you, Potter. That was then, this is now, and now your job is to stay alive and in good health." 

Harry drank his medicine to the bottom. He felt very sleepy. "Because my mother would have wanted you to protect me," he said. He shut his eyes.

"That's right," Snape said softly. "She loved you," he said. His hand was heavy on Harry's hair. Harry knew he must be drugged, because he thought he heard Snape say something kind to him. 

"And you loved her," Harry thought, "so you take care of me, and it's almost like you love me. A transitive property, like the thing with the wands." 

Snape stroked his hair. "You shouldn't talk," he said. 

Harry hadn't realized that he had been talking. At least he wasn't coughing. "She should have loved you back, since she knew you so well," he said with his eyes shut. "She probably really did. I do." The hand paused, and then continued in its slow stroking, until Harry was asleep again.

* * *

In the morning, Harry felt better. He woke up and cleared his throat. "Snape?" he tried tentatively. He didn't cough, and Snape didn't answer. He took a breath, and his lungs inflated without whistling. 

There was a note on the mantle by the Floo. Snape's handwriting was distinctive to Harry, now.

"Pollingtonious, _The Healer's Helpmate_ , p. 187-190 and notes."

Harry summoned the book. He thought Snape had highlighted something about how to take care of colds so that they don't become pleurisy, or something like that. 

Instead, there was a long passage on the effect of emotion on the human body and how magical bodies were more susceptible to illness as a result. 

"I didn't make myself ill," Harry said out loud. But Snape apparently believed that he had. 

He wrote a short note to Snape, thanking him. He didn't know whether an owl would find his old professor, who had never told Harry where he lived. Why should he? 

Though he probably didn't live far from Harry's grandparents' old house. 

Harry went to work at the Ministry for the day. No one seemed surprised to see him. Wizards were profoundly incurious about each other's welfare, even in the Auror division, where they were meant to be good detectives. 

Hermione stopped at his desk around 11AM. "Time for a tea break," she announced.

They went to sit in a deserted atrium on the fourth floor. The Ministry was enormous on the inside, and Hermione was clever at making spaces appear. 

"Why did you tell Snape I was ill?" Harry asked. Hermione was pouring tea and didn't look up. 

"Take a biscuit," she said. She got more like Professor McGonagall all the time. "He made us promise, after the last time." 

"You mean with those exploding curses."

"No, the time you were in St. Mungo's," she said, "With the Vanishing Sickness. One of the portraits told him, and he showed up with a potion. I thought you knew that."

"I was a bit out of it," Harry said. Had Snape been there? 

"Yes, so," Hermione said, "when Ron told me that you were sent home with a whistling cough, I knew what it was. It's not as though you'd ever go to a proper doctor," she added, "so I owled Professor Snape." 

Harry drank some of the tea and ate his biscuit obediently. "I don't see why," he said finally. 

"It's not that I couldn't have helped you myself," Hermione said. She touched his arm. "You know we're always here for you, and Ron's mum and dad would have certainly—"

"Why, then?"

"I don't think Professor Snape has a mission, anymore," Hermione said. 

"Yeah," Harry said. "I know what that's like."

"You do not! You have me, and Ron, and Ginny and Luna and Neville and all of us, the Weasleys. You have your job and you have—" Hermione was nearly in tears. She was getting awfully worked up about Harry's life being worth living. 

"Hermione!" Harry interrupted. She looked up. "I'm sorry." She nodded and composed herself. 

"And you have Snape," she said finally, "in a way." She pushed another biscuit at him. "Really you ought to eat some fruit," she mused. 

Harry was looking forward to having Ron back from his mission in Romania. Hermione was going to wear him out.

* * *

It took several weeks to figure out where Snape lived. He didn't want to ask Hermione for help. She kept leaving satsumas on his desk. 

It wasn't particularly easy to track down a master spy. Harry knew he'd basically been lucky with the Horcruxes. He also knew that once you've done something difficult, it's a great way to persuade yourself that you're capable of something much harder—like his Patronus in third year. 

Standing in the street in Cokeworth facing the house he thought might be Snape's, he realized that he didn't have anything to say. 

The door opened, and Snape stepped out. "Potter," he said, his quiet voice nevertheless carrying to Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"I—" Harry said. "I just wanted to see you. How you were." 

Snape was wearing Muggle clothing: a checkered shirt and some grotty old blue jeans. He looked thinner and smaller than Harry remembered. He was nonplussed for a moment, holding his elbows in the palms of his hands, his eyebrows beetling.

"Please come in," Snape finally said. 

Snape offered him a cup of tea, and there was all the tea business of a magical household, the self-washing cups and plates and the towel that dried them and the invisible hands that set the table, the pitcher of milk that walked to his cup and poured in a thin blue-white stream, so that the tea clouded and turned creamy. 

"I wanted to—" Harry began. "I would like to apologize to you."

"Why?" Snape demanded. "For not knowing my loyalties? I would think you'd have more to apologize for if you had realized. For finding me and invading my privacy? You'd hardly seek me out to apologize for finding me." 

"For," Harry said, "For my mother."

"You are actually sitting in my kitchen apologizing to me for being alive. You stupid, stupid boy." Snape got out of his chair and walked around the room.

"For not—" Harry said. "For not— for not believing the best of you. As she did. I'm sure she did. "

"I can't discuss this with you," Snape said thickly. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. Presumably he was trying to keep himself from throwing things at Harry's head, again. 

"If it weren't for you, I'd be dead," Harry said. Snape seemed to sag into himself. "Because you were so—because you tricked Voldemort and fucked up his magic."

"Language."

"You know what I mean. If you hadn't been so brave, I wouldn't have had a prayer." 

He walked across the room and put his arms around Snape, who sighed and leaned his head on Harry's shoulder. After a moment he unfolded his arms and embraced Harry too. 

OK, so, this was perhaps a little weird. Avuncular. Paternal? Brotherly. It felt so good, like redemption, and home, to be hugging Snape, who'd known and loved his mom. 

And then Snape bent his head and kissed Harry on the mouth. 

Oh. 

Harry had to make sure he didn't act surprised. He couldn't freeze or act disgusted. He had to seem like he meant for this to happen. Snape had taken the hug as a come-on. Fine! The main thing was, he couldn't humiliate him or hurt him. He had to at least—

Snape put his mouth on Harry's neck, and Harry shivered. Under Harry's ear, he murmured, "I love you, too, Harry," and Harry shut his eyes. The low buzz of Snape's voice, the warmth of his breath, those words—something made him feel like he was molten, just flowing into place. 

Snape's thin lips were mobile and his tongue was liquid and Harry was leaning in the circle of his arms. He made a little sound in his throat. 

He stopped and opened his eyes. Snape was looking at him, too. 

"Was this what you wanted?" Snape asked. His voice was low. 

"Er," Harry said. "Yes."

"I don't think so," Snape said. He was going for his wand. Harry grabbed his own and cast a wordless expelliarmus.

"Why did you do that?" Snape asked. 

"You were going to Obliviate me," Harry said. "You were embarrassed and you were going to take away my memory that—that you said that. Even though I said it first!" 

"It's not the same. You—I—I didn't mean it in a nice way."

"What? How can you love someone but not in a nice way?"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Sexually. Possessively. Selfishly." His voice descended to a baritone whisper. 

Harry swallowed. "Sounds good to me." Keeping a good grip on their wands in his right hand, he moved in quickly, before Snape could stop him, and gripped his chin. The line of his mouth was ugly and crooked, and his lips were thin, and Harry had never wanted to kiss a mouth so much. He parted his lips, and Snape devoured him, as though he were something delicious. 

There were definitely teeth involved. 

"Do not swoon," Snape panted in his ear. "You took my wand." 

"Yes, sorry," Harry said, handing it back. 

"You _took_ my _wand_ ," Snape said. 

"Does that mean I get to top?" Harry asked. "You know that wand lore was something I made up on the spot." 

"You _made up_ all of that magic about the Elder Wand? "

"Voldemort made it up, actually. I heard what he said to you."

"But it worked." 

"Because he believed it. Because you're really as good as I said, and he knew it. He knew that you were strong and loyal and brave, and that you would do anything not to get caught," Harry said. "He just realized at the last minute that you weren't working for him. It's still your wand." Harry dropped his hand to the front of Snape's trousers to feel his erection. "It's a big one, too." He licked Snape's ear. 

"Be serious," Snape said. "You tricked the Dark Lord?" Harry laughed. "You waited four years to tell me this?"

"You let me think you were dead!"

"Stop laughing," Snape said. "I thought you believed that my memories were real because you were controlling his wand."

"No," Harry said. "It was the other way round. I believed you, I had a chance to vindicate you and fuck him up at the same time, and I took it. You know me," he kissed Snape's chin, "I'm opportunistic," he kissed his stubbly throat, "and lucky," he licked his collarbone. "Also queer—did you know I was queer?"

"I've surmised," Snape said. 

"I'm going to suck your cock right here on the kitchen floor," Harry said.

"And I," Snape said, leaning back against the door, "am going to let you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Fabula Rasa for beta reading.


End file.
